Date: Fri, 4 Oct 2013 09:12:25 +0100 (BST)
From: CS Unwin
Subject: Moroccan Girls School Teacher
Moroccan Girls School Teacher
By cs.unwin
Warning: This story contains adult content. If such material offends you or
if your under 21 please stop reading.
Author's Note: This story is the property of the author. It can be
downloaded for personal reading, pleasure, or sending to a friend, but if
you wish to re-post them on your own site, please contact the author for
permission. Copyright 2013 cs.unwin, All rights reserved
Please mail to cs.unwin@yahoo.co.uk if you have any suggestions or
comments.
Ikram grew up in a small village in the eastern part of Morocco. Most who
live there are subsistence farmers. In that region men who have their own
land often take more than one wife, to provide more labour to work their
farms. Her mother was the youngest of her fathers' three wives. Ikram was
destined to be one of several wives of a farmer like her father until one
day something happened which changed her life.
That day Ikram learned a free school for girls was opening in a
neighbouring village. The young Moroccan girl was very bright and eager to
learn. She begged her mother to be allowed to attend the school. Her mother
was persuaded and pleaded with her husband. Since Ikram's mother was the
wife he found most pleasing in bed, the farmer agreed; but only provided
Ikram would work on the farm when she was not studying.
The school was set-up in an abandoned garage. A French charity dedicated to
educating illiterate Arab women had founded the school and hired a teacher
to establish a new school in this part of Morocco. The teachers name was
Rochelle. She was a Canadian in her forties who had for many years worked
in disaster relief for different international aid organizations. She had
suffered from burnout, and since she had started her career teaching in her
home country, could speak French, and had a teaching degree, Rochelle was
hired for the job.
After scrounging for some furniture and cleaning up the garage to use as a
classroom, Rochelle set about finding students. When she started she had
only six girls, aged 7 to 11. Ikram was the eldest and brightest. Madame
Rochelle, as the students called her, lived in a mobile home behind the
school. The teacher was accustomed to living in difficult conditions, and
compared to some of her assignments, this one was relatively comfortable.
Rochelle was tall, about 5 foot 7 inches, slim and in very good shape for
her age. Her features were a little too strong to be considered pretty, her
nose was large and straight, and she wore her blonde hair just below her
ears. Rochelle had developed early and had large breasts by the time she
was in her middle teens. As the decades passed and gravity took its toll,
her once proud breasts had begun to sag. And her perky pink nipples had
grown and darkened. What used to be a proud 36B were now a 38D.
Rochelle had been a lesbian since she was a young teenager. In her thirties
she had developed an appetite for pre-pubescent girls. After nearly being
caught with an under aged student in her own country, Rochelle chose to
leave and pursue development work in the Third World where there was less
scrutiny. She had had many relationships with young girls during her career
overseas.
Ikram was her favourite student from the schools beginning. She was that
perfect age when a young girl's body just begins to develop into a
woman's. Tall for a Moroccan girl, she was thin to the point of being
gangly. Her breasts had recently developed into small bumps and she had a
slight curve to her hips. These of course were well hidden as she never
left the house without a brown shapeless gown, the same kind her mother and
the other women of the village wore. Her hair was always covered by a dark
blue Hijab, which is a scarf many Muslim women wear to cover their head and
hair.
The young Moroccan girl was clever and an exceptionally fast
learner. Rochelle spent more time with her than with her other
students. After school she would invite Ikram to stay for tea and she would
tell the young girl stories about the many places she had lived. Ikram most
of all loved to hear her tell about Canada and Europe. The young girl had
been exposed to television and some films and had an endless fascination
for all things Western. She yearned to leave the confines of her poor
country and culture, and to dress in the pretty clothes she had seen in
magazines. She longed to let her long black hair down and feel the open air
caress it. She was curious about Rochelle and wished to know every detail
of her life.
"Are you married Madame Rochelle?" She asked the teacher one day.
"No I never married." Her teacher laughed.
"Why Madame Rochelle?"
"Because I love women, Cherie. I could never marry a man. And marrying
women is not permitted in most countries." Her teacher confessed to her.
This was a difficult notion for the young girl to grasp. Her teacher told
her than in her home country women were free to love other women and
frequently did so. This resulted in a torrent of questions, some of which
Rochelle answered and some of which she deferred. She had anticipated this
turn of events, even encouraged it. She reached in her bag and retrieved a
book she had purchased by mail order from a French publishing house
specializing in lesbian fiction. It was a book of stories about young girls
loving mature women.
Rochelle cautioned her student that this was a special gift to her and not
to show it to anyone, especially to her family. The teacher of course
already knew Ikram was the only one in her family who could read French, so
the risk to her was small. The young girl devoured the stories, reading
many three or four times. While reading, the young girl felt her nipples
get hard and experienced a tingling sensation between her legs. She
surreptitiously touched herself on her smooth hairless sex and felt her
body respond. Her explorations were constrained because there was no
privacy in her crowded house, and what she was attempting was considered
completely forbidden.
Nevertheless Ikram succeed in rubbing her pussy against different surfaces
while no one was watching, including the arm of a sofa. She found this to
be the best as the velour surface provided enough friction so she could
feel it through her underpants. She imagined her teacher touching and
kissing and licking her in ways described in the book she had read. As she
rubbed her young pussy against the velour she experienced successive waves
of pleasure pulsing through her body. For a few moments the entire room
seemed to fade away as her first orgasm consumed her. She was a little
frightened by the power of the experience and did not dare to try it again
for fear of being discovered.
The next time they met in private, for tea, Rochelle asked Ikram how she
liked the book. The young girl did not answer directly. She averted her
eyes and blushed. The teacher gently took her hand and held it.
"Do you now understand what I mean about loving women?"
"Yes Madame Rochelle." The girl answered.
She was too embarrassed to speak about her climax on the sofa, but the seed
had been planted. Ikram would sit in the class and daydream about being
alone with her teacher. She imagined her naked, which was not that
hard. Rochelle was the only women they knew who did not wear a gown. Ikram
and the other girls had gossiped about the jeans Rochelle wore and imagined
they could see her vulva.
A few months after school had begun, Rochelle announced she would like to
enter Ikram into a Math contest sponsored by the French Women's Club of
Casablanca. The girl was thrilled but was certain her family would not let
her attend, as it would require her travelling to the city and being away
from home for three days. Her teacher asked for a meeting with her mother,
which was duly arranged. The teacher explained that a bursary was available
for the family, and offered the woman 150 dinars if Ikram were allowed to
go. Her mother agreed immediately, without even consulting her husband. In
truth there was no bursary – the money came directly out of Rochelle's
pocket.
When Ikram was told she could attend, she was overjoyed. The city was a six
hour drive. Rochelle would drive them both and they would stay at a hotel
for the three nights required by the competition. When the day to leave
came, Ikram arrived at the school dressed as she normally would in her
brown gown and blue Hijab. She had packed a change of underwear and some
toiletries in a small cheap bag.
On the journey to Casablanca, Rochelle prepared her young student. She
talked to her about love between women and the freedom that could give
her. The hotel was a new four story building. The lobby was clean and
smelled fresh. Behind the lobby was a courtyard with a garden, a fountain,
and a swimming pool. Ikram felt she was in a palace. They took the elevator
up to their room on the third floor. It was as clean and luxurious as a
three star hotel should be. The room was nearly as large as the house
Ikram's family lived in.
Once the hotel room door closed after the teacher and her student there was
an awkward pause. The young girl did not know what would happen
next. Rochelle solved that by putting her arms around the girl's slight
body and pulled her close. She kissed her on the lips. Ikram responded and
melted into her teacher's arms. They kissed for a few minutes, Rochelle's
hands explored the young girl's body beneath her gown. She had restrained
herself until that moment, but now her hands were eager to explore every
curve of the girls young body.
The teacher reached out and touched the young girls' hijab. It was held
tight against her head so that only her eyes, nose, mouth and chin were
visible. The dark blue cloth contrasted against the dark ivory of her
skin. It looked so complete. Elegant and self-contained. Rochelle was eager
to see Ikram's hair, neck and shoulders.
"I am going to undress you now, Cherie. Are you ready?"
"Yes Madame Rochelle. Please, I am yours' Madame Rochelle."
Ikram guessed her teacher would not be able to undo the complicated folds
of the scarf on her own. She reached behind and drew a long pin with an
imitation pearl for a top, from behind her head. She took the end of her
scarf and unwound it from where it sat on the top of her head. She then
reached under her chin and released a bobby-pin hidden in the folds. The
long blue scarf was draped over her head, with a long end and a short end,
one on each side of her innocent young face.
Under the blue Hijab scarf, Ikram wore an elastic black bandanna. The scarf
or hijab is for decoration. Her hair was held and hidden by the bandanna
which kept even a single strand from being seen in public. Though elastic
it was tied at the back in a bun. Ikram reached behind her head and untied
the bandana. Her dark black hair, released, tumbled over her shoulders as
she shook her head in an instinctive gesture.
Ikram's face without the Hijab scarf seemed younger and more ordinary. She
looked like a young teenager from anywhere in the Mediterranean, or
Latin-America. Only the slight curve of her nose betrayed her Arab
ancestry. This was the first time the teacher had seen her young student
bare-headed. She was pleased and even more aroused. She took the young
girl's head in her hands and ran her fingers through her hair. It was fine
and straight and silky to her touch. She leaned down and nuzzled Ikram's
neck, letting the hair caress her face. It smelled of Ikram, her home and
the spices used in her cooking.
Rochelle turned her attention to the old-fashioned brown gown covering her
body. Shapeless, it hid her slight girlish figure from the eyes of all men
and most women. Rochelle slowly loosened the four buttons which held the
gown closed around her neck. There was no other way to remove the gown but
to pull it up over the young girl's head. Rochelle leaned down, took the
hem and lifted it. The garment lifted inside out, first revealing the
girls' slim brown legs, then her underpants, undershirt, until finally she
was free of the homely garment.
The young girl now stood in front of her teacher, quiet in ancipation. She
was not shy or embarrassed. She had, in her mind, been preparing herself
for this moment from nearly the first time she had met Madame Rochelle. And
certainly from the time she began reading the erotic fiction her teacher
had given her. Nearly naked she seemed a lot smaller and certainly more
vulnerable. Rochelle stifled the urge to tear off all her remaining clothes
and ravish her firm young body with her hands, lips and tongue. She had an
overwhelming desire to possess this child. Instead she ran her hands
lightly over the young girls body, exploring its nubile geography.
Her palms pressed down on the slight swelling of her chest. She could feel
her rib cage, and her soft mounds. She imagined she detected a hardening of
Ikram's nipples as blood rushed into them. Next her hands traversed her
body, over her waist and to the slim almost boyish hips. She plied the
crease between the cheeks of her bottom, and her fingers touched the flat
surface of her sex, easily accessible from the rear owing to the girls'
thin legs and space between her thighs. She imagined she felt the heat of
the young girls' sex under her touch. Rochelle detected the crease of the
pre-pubescents' hairless slit under the coarse material of her underpants.
The teacher put her hands under the waistband of girls' old, worn
underpants and pulled them down. Once they passed Ikram's slim hips, the
worn elastic on the baggy briefs ensured they slid to the ground. With
another decisive gesture she pulled the sleeveless undershirt up and over
the girl's head. Ikram stood naked before her. Her dark skin glowed in the
soft light of the hotel room.
`How exquisite!' Rochelle thought to herself, as she gazed upon the naked
girl she had gotten to know so well. Her breasts were so slight and her
nipples not much larger than a boys'. Her ribs were slightly visible and
her belly flat. The smooth skin her abdomen was an unbroken plateau of
silky nakedness, unblemished, save for her recessed navel, to where it
reached the fold of her sex. There it curved into two plump mounds,
bisected by a furrow in the brown skin, unbroken save for a small almost
imperceptible sliver of skin which peeked out halfway down. Rochelle
imagined it to be the flap of her inner vulva, peeking out, waiting to be
discovered.
Rochelle was eager to feel the girls' naked body next to her own. She began
to undress. And because she had not failed to notice Ikram watching her
these past months, the teacher had some idea of how exciting this must be
for the girl. She chose to offer her a show, and stood in front of the
naked young girl, taking her time with each article of clothing.
Rochelle began by unbuttoning her shirt. Underneath she wore a sheer white
bra, in which her heavy breasts strained the fabric. Ikram could plainly
see her dark nipples contrasting as they did with her pale skin. The young
girl was surprised to see her teacher's underarms were not shaved. She had
full tufts of hair which were a brown colour, not blonde like the hair on
her head. All the Western women in TV shows and magazines Ikram had read
led her to believe all Western women had shaved underarms.
The teacher slipped out of the straps of her bra and lowered the
cups. Without support her breasts sagged. Her nipples were quite large and
stood out from her pale breasts like brown thimbles. The young girl had not
thought of her teacher as old, but she guessed she was not young, maybe
even older than 30. It was hard to know with certainty. The women in
Ikram's family became old very quickly.
Rochelle turned her bra around so the cups were in the back and unhooked it
from the front. Ikram thought this was a very clever way to remove her
bra. The girl made a note to remember this for when she would need a bra
herself. Rochelle was wearing jeans. She unzipped them, pulled them down
and kicked them aside. Her underpants were the same sheer material as her
bra. The crotch was a dark area where it covered her pubic hair. She was
quite hairy; her curly brown hair, the same colour as under her arms,
spilled out of the top and sides of her underpants. Again Ikram was a
little surprised because she imagined Western woman to be far less hairy
than Arabs. Her mother and her fathers' wives, those she had seen, all
sported very full hairy pubic areas.
Rochelle took the sides of her sheer underpants and pulled them down to her
feet and stepped out of them daintily. The young girl could not take her
eyes off her teacher's body. It was beautiful to her and exciting.
"Madame Rochelle you are so very beautiful." She said to her teacher.
"Thank you Cherie." She replied. "What will you like to do to me? I am
yours for the taking. You can do anything you like to me. Perhaps something
you learned in the book I lent you?"
"Yes Madame Rochelle, thank you." Ikram said politely. "May I touch your
breasts?"
Without replying her teacher took the young girls hands and placed them on
her breasts. Ikram could feel the hard rubbery nipples on her palm. Gently,
as if she feared she would break the soft orbs, she curled her fingers and
squeezed them.
Rochelle let out an involuntary moan. She took the girl by the hand and led
her to one of the two beds. It had been turned down before they arrived and
a small chocolate had been placed on the pillow. The teacher lay down and
pulled the naked young girl on top her. Pushing her fingers through Ikram's
luxuriant black hair she pulled her head towards her breast. The girl,
without hesitation attached her small wet mouth onto the proffered nipple
and began to suck gently as a baby would.
Ikram had been around babies most of her life, a natural consequence of
growing up in a polygamous Muslim family. In the privacy of their home
women are not at all reserved about baring their breasts to feed. Ikram had
from an early age always been curious the size and shape of the breasts of
the women of her family. Now she had a nipple in her mouth she was very
happy. She was also aware of her skin pressing against the warm body of her
teachers. She was lying between the woman's open legs, her own slight
breasts pressed against the woman's stomach.
Rochelle had to restrain herself. Although she thrilled at the effect of
her young lovers mouth on her very sensitive nipples, she craved rougher
treatment. She thrilled when her lovers pinched, pulled, slapped and even
bit her. She stroked Ikrams' head, encouraging her gently. The teacher was
highly aroused and her wet pussy craved stimulating. She began to rub her
hairy mound against Ikram's smooth flat stomach.
Ikram was in awe of the effect she had on her teacher. She was keenly aware
of the pressure of the woman's hot moist sex against her stomach. She was
not confident enough to touch the woman's hungry sex that she so
desperately wanted. Rochelle solved the problem for her. She gently
detached the girl's mouth from her nipple and began to steadily push her
down the bed and towards her throbbing pussy.
Ikram was aware what her teacher was doing and responded
enthusiastically. She planted small childlike kisses on Rochelles belly,
mons pubis, and into the tangle of brown hair on her pussy. Close as she
was Ikram could smell the pungent bouquet an aroused woman's sex
radiates. Her chin nestled in the slippery fold beneath her hair.
"Ikram, Oh God, lick me, please lick my darling," Rochelle panted.
The Moroccan girl pushed her tongue into the tangle of slippery wet hair,
not knowing how it would taste. But when the inside of her pussy hit her
tongue, she loved it. It tasted earthy with strong flavour of sweat, and
hint of pee. Most important it tasted strongly of the woman she
adored. Without any hesitation the young girl began to enthusiastically
lick her lovers open furrow. And with a woman's instinct she honed in on
Rochelles' clitoris, circling it with her tongue and licking it as she
imagined she herself would like to be licked.
Rochelle lay back and enjoyed the urgent pulsing from her sex wash over
her. Soon she was riding the crest of an orgasm but needed that extra push
to get over the top.
"Ikram, utiliser tes doigts pour me baiser (use your fingers to fuck
me). Please, please..." Rochelle moaned.
"Ikram pushed a finger into her slippery vaginal opening. It slid in
easily. It felt a bit like the inside of her mouth. Emboldened she pushed
in a second finger.
"Aaagh fuck me please darling," Rochelle begged.
The Moroccan girl used two fingers to hammer into the slippery wet
vagina. At her lovers urging she went faster and harder. It made a sucking,
slapping sound as her fingers pushed, retracted and pushed deeper. Suddenly
Rochelle arched her back, her thighs began to quiver, and a surge of clear
fluid splashed from her vagina onto the astonished students face. Two
smaller gobs followed which landed on the bedcover.
Rochelle was breathing heavily and giggled. She could not help laughing at
the surprised expression on her lovers face. Sitting up she pulled the
girls' much smaller body to her and kissed her lips with passion. Her
tongue buried itself in her lovers' mouth. She paused for breath and licked
some of the remaining discharge from Ikrams face. The Moroccan girl
returned her embrace with passion.
"Cherie I am so sorry I laughed at you. I am sorry but you looked so
surprised. But you should be proud. Very few women make me orgasm like
that. When I am so aroused my body will discharge fluid like it did just
now."
Ikram was relieved and proud. There was nothing wrong. She had pleasured
the one person in the world whom she most earnestly desired to please. She
pushed her thin young body against her older lover, who held her
close. Rochelle kissed her and said:
"Hey lover, you gave me a beautiful orgasm. What about you? What can I do
for you?" Rochelle asked.
Her hands began to roam over the 12 year olds body, caressing her nubile
little breasts. She caressed her stomach and bum, teasing her by circling
her womanhood, coming close, but not quite touching her. Ikram felt a
familiar tingle in her young pussy and started to lubricate. She could not
stand it any more and grabbed the older woman's hand and placed it on her
hairless mound.
"My little girl is getting aroused," Rochelle whispered.
"Yes Madame, pleaase, pleaase touch me. Help me to have my pleasure."
Rochelle went into action. She flipped the girl over and pushed her to her
knees. The young girl was lying on the bed face down, her bum and hairless
pussy in the air. The teacher began to lick the hairless vulva which was
offered her. Ikram groaned as entirely new sensations penetrated her
loins. It was a hundred times more exiting than touching herself. Rochelles
tongue licked her clitoris, her uretha, her perineum. Ikram shuddered with
pleasure as her lovers tongue snaked into her bottom, licked her crack and
tried to penetrate her puckered anus.
Rochelles tongue found the entrance to her vagina, it was tight but the
hymen did not appear to be present. She pushed her index finger inside
Ikram to the first joint. The Moroccan girl groaned with pleasure and
pushed back onto the finger, impaling herself on it until it was buried to
the knuckle.
"Please Madame, fuck me more and harder," the young girl begged.
Rochelle added her middle finger to the first and jammed it into the girls
tight vagina. She alternated between using her finger as a hook, probing
the ceiling of her vaginal canal, and using it like a cock, shoving hard
and deep as she could. From this position she could not easily reach the
girl's clitoris, so she used her tongue to impale the girls sweet anus and
told Ikram:
"Rub yourself! Rub your clit while fuck you girl"
Ikram rubbed her clitoris as she had never done before. Writhing with
pleasure her thin boyish hips swivelled and ground onto her lovers
fingers. Multiple sensations from different parts of her body overwhelmed
her. Her moans rose in crescendo to a very uncharacteristic shriek which
announced her moment of crisis had arrived. When it did she slumped onto
the bed groaning and sweating from the exertion.
As they lay on the bed in the afterglow of their sex, Rochelle asked Ikram
about her hymen. She knew virginity was very important for Muslim brides.
"Yes it is true," said Iskram. "But I will not be such a bride. You, my
teacher have opened my eyes. How can I be satisfied with a man of my
village when you have shown me life can be so much more."
"What do you mean? Rochelle asked."
"I love you Madame Rochelle. I loved you from the first moment we met."
Rochelle was moved by this statement. But she was also worried by the depth
of feeling it implied. She cared deeply for this young girl she had just
seduced, but she knew that in a year, maybe two she would be gone. On her
way to her next assignment. Of course this was not the first time she had
such a scenario play out. Seducing young girls from poor countries was not
without its consequences.
Ikram noticed the shadow crossing her lovers face, and sought to reassure
her.
"Please Madame Rochelle, understand. I am young but not as naive as you may
think."
"Yes I love you, but I know that I am but a young girl to you. And our
future is very uncertain. But two things I am sure about, two things you
have taught me. No three..."
Ikram went on to explain what she had learned from Rochelle:
"The first is that it is possible to dream, and dreams can come true."
"The second is that I do not think my body was meant for a man."
And in saying this she thought about the pure pleasure they had just
enjoyed compared to the brutish couplings she had witnessed between her
father and his wives. In the small house in which her family lived, such
things were hard to conceal.
"Third is that I will leave this country and find a better life for
myself. Perhaps in America. Or maybe France. I will go and I will have
freedom and I will have choice to love whom I want."
Rochelle was taken aback by this simple yet powerful declaration. 'And from
the mouth of babes' she thought to herself.
"You are one of the most special and intelligent girls I have ever met
Ikram. I probably do not love you as much as you love me. But I do care
deeply for you and I am sure I always will. I am simply overwhelmed by your
sense of purpose and will do all I can to help you achieve your goals. I
promise."
"It is late now. If you are to win this competition, we need some
sleep. Good night my darling." She said and they drifted off.
The next two days were a constant whirl of competition, studying and
preparation. While the lovers did not have the luxury of leisurely
lovemaking, they were able to snatch moments of hurried intimacy here and
there. After Iskram had contested the semi-finals, but before the awards
were announced, they were able to sneak back to their hotel room. Iskram
insisted on removing her teachers jeans and panties and buried her face in
her hairy mound. The day's excitement and stress had seemed to collect
inside the gusset of her panties, and the smell and taste of her teachers
sex was strong and pungent. The young girl loved it. Her teacher orgasmed
quickly. But they had to leave return for the announcement of the day's
results.
Iskram won the Math prize. It had no monetary value, but since the contest
had been sponsored by Carrefour, which is the French equivalent of Wall
Mart, the winner received many goods with significant value. Iskram hoped
her family would be pleased when she shared them, and would not question
her need to spend time with her teacher. She would tell them she was
studying for another contest.
After the awards were presented and the two were heartily congratulated,
they managed to slip back to their hotel room. Iskram was hugely impressed
their beds were made and the chocolates replaced as if by magic. Rochelle
uncorked a bottle of wine she had left to chill earlier. She ran a hot bath
and the two luxuriated in the large tub drinking the cool wine. Two more
firsts for Iskram. She had never had a bath before. In her village washing
was done from a plastic bucket. And she had never tasted wine before. Two
things she promised herself she would do again, often.
In the bath Iskram was eager to explore every nook an cranny of her lovers
body. She teased the hair under her arms and licked this secret place. And
with her lovers encouragement she kissed Rochelles feet and sucked her
toes, one by one. She licked up her leg and rediscovered the beauty which
lay between her lovers legs, exploring each flap, wrinkle and orifice with
her tongue. She used her fingers to push deep into her teachers centre,
finding her g-spot, and laughed with delight when she caused her to squirt
again. She tried to catch all the viscous fluid with her mouth, but her
lover came too quickly.
Rochelle dried her young student and carried her to the bed where she in
turn devoured every inch of her body. Especially her innocent young breasts
and hairless pussy with its puffy crease. The stress of the day and the
effect of the wine put the young girl into a sensation filled daze. Her
body became a vessel of pleasure for both to enjoy. A vessel which crested
wave after wave of climax until exhausted. The two lovers then fell into a
deep sleep.
The following morning they lay naked in bed and had breakfast delivered by
room service. When Rochelles bladder felt the inevitable effects of coffee
and orange juice, she left the bed and went to the bathroom. She called out
to Ikram to come to her. The girl entered the bathroom; Rochelle was
sitting naked on the commode.
"Come and watch me pee," she said.
Slightly embarrassed, Ikram came closer. Rochelle took her hand and held it
under her bottom while she let loose a strong stream of urine. The young
Moroccan girl grinned, held the hand under her nose and then tasted it with
her tongue. She grinned and said:
"My turn now."
She sat on the commode and let go a stream of her own piss. Rochelle put
her hand underneath, and took her turn tasting. This aroused the two so
much that they returned to the bed for another session of making each other
climax.
Eventually it was time to check out of their room, and they packed their
belongings hastily and took their baggage to Rochelles car. It was already
loaded with prizes from Carrefour. They began the long journey back to the
village.
Epilogue When they returned to the school, Ikrams' family were pleased she
had returned safely. They were even more pleased with the prizes she had
won and gave them. The girl suggested there were many other prizes to be
won in future competitions. She then had carte-blanche to spend time with
her teacher whenever she chose. Ikram was even excused from heavier chores
around the farm.
Ikram took every possible opportunity to spend time in Rochelles
trailer. Her teacher initiated her into many different and some kinkier
aspects of lesbian sex, such as piss play and D/s. Surprisingly, as Ikram
got older she more often enjoyed played the dominant. Rochelle was a
natural submissive and especially liked having her large breasts bound and
whipped.
True to her prediction, Rochelle eventually got bored with Eastern Morocco
and took an assignment elsewhere. Ikram was heartbroken for a time, but by
then she was busy applying for a Royal Scholarship to the EMI (The
Mohammadia School of Engineering) in Rabat. At 16 she was the youngest
female student ever granted admission to the premiere engineering school in
the country. Thus began a new chapter in her life. It was a difficult one,
because there were few women in the school. Many of the male students and
professors either tried to put her down or hit on her.
On graduation she applied to and was accepted on a partial scholarship for
a Masters Degree to the University of Leiden in the Netherlands. She left
Morocco age 20 and did not return for many years. While studying in the
Netherlands she found an arrangement with a Dutch family where she was
given free room and board in return for babysitting their children and
doing light housework. It suited her schedule and the three children ages
11 to 5 years old were well behaved. The eldest, a precocious and pretty
blonde girl, Saskia, was soon smitten with the dark beauty who had come to
live in her house. Ikram found it hard to resist the attentions of this
beautiful young girl on the cusp of adolescence, and eventually seduced
her. But that is another story.
-- o --